Rattle, rattle.
Frank twitched. Rattle, rattle. Click.
He cracked an eyelid and noted with great annoyance that the sun had moved. That would explain the rattling at the door, however. Betsy was home from work. His roommate bustled into the compact, four-room apartment, far too cheerful for someone who had spent the day chained to a cubicle desk (as she was so fond of whining).
“Frank?” she called. “Are you in the bedroom?”
He rolled his eyes — where else did she expect to find him? Never mind the fact that she could see the bed from the door if she bothered to look. Frank would have sworn the woman was an idiot except that she did manage to keep a job that paid well enough to maintain the style in which he was accustomed to living. Now if she could just learn not to bother him with the mundane details of said job. Alas, today was not the day, because she was blathering on about sales being up, her boss being pleased, blah, blah, blah. He yawned.
“…and he said there might be a promotion in my near future,” Betsy said. “Isn’t that great?!”
Frank’s eyes narrowed, but he otherwise pretended not to hear her. A promotion might mean more money, but it could also mean more hours at work, which would mean less time spent with him. Better to dampen her enthusiasm now because she’d be miserable if it fell through. And miserable Betsy equaled miserable Frank. Unacceptable.
Betsy’s face fell at his lack of response. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you,” Betsy murmured, searching for something to say. “Go back to sleep.”
Frank was awake now, though. He stretched, limbs reaching to each end of the bed, toes curling and flexing. It was a good stretch. Fully awake now, he brushed past Betsy to wander into the kitchen, where he pondered his snack choices and found them seriously lacking. He turned up his nose in disgust.
“What’s the matter, baby? Don’t see anything you like?” Betsy asked as she rummaged through the cabinets.
She was well trained in this regard, Frank noted. Now if she could just remember to fix him his snack before he woke up from his afternoon nap.
“How about something chewy?”
Frank huffed as Betsy artfully positioned the cookies on a plate. Why did she have to make such a production out of a snack? Who was she trying to impress - they were cookies, not crème brulée - and he was hungry. He crowded into her space.
“Um, a little room please,” Betsy said. “Do you want to eat, or not? I need room.”
Frank gave her an inch.
Betsy shoved the plate at him and stalked off.
He ignored her. He was tempted to ignore the cookies - just on principle - but they were his favorite and he had to admit, they did look appetizing arranged like that on the plate.
Snack devoured, Frank nudged the plate away, smacking his lips. Another nap before dinner might be good, he thought, or possibly … what was that? He leaned in close, and then let out an explosive curse that brought Betsy running.
“What is it? What’s wrong?”
Another curse. He swatted at the filthy intruder and scuttled back so Betsy could take over.
“Dammit, another fly?” Betsy groused. “Can’t you get it?”
Frank stared at her. Surely she was joking. He peered out from behind her as she expertly squashed the fly with an old newspaper and wrapped it in a tissue. He hated bugs - hated them. He gave the spot where the fly had been a final, disgusted glare, making sure there were no others. Satisfied, he moved toward the bedroom as Betsy emerged from the bathroom, the sound of flushing behind her.
“Are you going back to sleep?” Betsy asked as Frank sauntered past her. “Must be nice.”
He rubbed up against her, spared her a quick glance over his shoulder. A soft invitation followed.
“Brat,” she giggled. “I need to finish this report before dinner, but you go ahead.”
Frank shrugged. It was her loss.
Betsy almost missed the squeak over the pop and sizzle of chicken in the fry pan. She craned her neck in time to see Frank finish a gaping yawn. “Nice teeth. Have a nice nap?”
Frank blinked, shook off the last of sleep and breathed deeply, the enticing aroma that had pulled him from slumber filling his pulsing nostrils.
“Dinner’s almost ready.”
Excellent. He hopped up on a kitchen chair to supervise. The woman had an annoying habit of experimenting with exotic herbs and had to be watched every moment if the food was going to be edible.
“A promotion really would be nice,” Betsy ventured as she set Frank’s plate before him.
A cocked eyebrow ended that conversation. The rest of dinner was a subdued affair.
Still, by the time Betsy had finished the dishes, she’d swallowed enough of her pride to accept his invitation to nestle on the couch. Frank rested his head on her thigh while she curled her fingers at his nape.
“This is nice,” she murmured. They lazed contentedly, enjoying each other’s quiet company.
Sensing the moment was right, Frank arched his neck, flashed his baby blues.
Betsy melted. “You’re irresistible when you do that,” she purred. “But you know that.”
He did. He leaned further into her caress, urged her lower.
Besotted by his come-hither eyes, she complied. Her fingers gently circled a nipple.
Swat!
“Ow! What the hell?!” Betsy’s finger went into her mouth.
Frank leapt, offended, from the couch. She knew damn well he didn’t like to be touched there. It tickled.
“You let me last night,” Betsy whined, nursing her injured hand. “What’s your problem tonight? Jesus, you’re like a Venus flytrap.”
He glared and stalked toward the bedroom.
“Oh, sure. Go ahead - ignore me again. It’s what you do best, isn’t it?”
He stopped, but refused to face her.
“I work all day with people I despise, just to come home and be treated like a servant,” Betsy shouted.
And she wants a promotion … why? Frank mused.
“You call all the shots. And the moment I try something that I think you’ll like, you hit me.” She jabbed her finger at him. “You hit me!”
Frank rolled his eyes and continued toward the bedroom. If she was going to be melodramatic, then he was going to bed.
Betsy deflated. “You … you … oh, come on! Just … come back to the couch, okay? Frank?”
Frank was already in bed.
When the clock chimed 11, he felt her curl up next to him.
“I’m sorry, baby. I won’t touch your belly nipple next time,” she cooed.
Frank rolled over and offered her his chin, as a token of his forgiveness.
“You are the biggest tease on the planet,” Betsy chuckled. “Must be why I love you.”
Frank twitched.
Rattle, rattle. Click.
He cracked an eyelid and noted with great annoyance that the sun had moved. That would explain the rattling at the door, however. Betsy was home from work. His roommate bustled into the compact, four-room apartment, far too cheerful for someone who had spent the day chained to a cubicle desk (as she was so fond of whining).
“Frank?” she called. “Are you in the bedroom?”
He rolled his eyes — where else did she expect to find him? Never mind the fact that she could see the bed from the door if she bothered to look. Frank would have sworn the woman was an idiot except that she did manage to keep a job that paid well enough to maintain the style in which he was accustomed to living. Now if she could just learn not to bother him with the mundane details of said job. Alas, today was not the day, because she was blathering on about sales being up, her boss being pleased, blah, blah, blah. He yawned.
“…and he said there might be a promotion in my near future,” Betsy said. “Isn’t that great?!”
Frank’s eyes narrowed, but he otherwise pretended not to hear her. A promotion might mean more money, but it could also mean more hours at work, which would mean less time spent with him. Better to dampen her enthusiasm now because she’d be miserable if it fell through. And miserable Betsy equaled miserable Frank. Unacceptable.
Betsy’s face fell at his lack of response. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you,” Betsy murmured, searching for something to say. “Go back to sleep.”
Frank was awake now, though. He stretched, limbs reaching to each end of the bed, toes curling and flexing. It was a good stretch. Fully awake now, he brushed past Betsy to wander into the kitchen, where he pondered his snack choices and found them seriously lacking. He turned up his nose in disgust.
“What’s the matter, baby? Don’t see anything you like?” Betsy asked as she rummaged through the cabinets.
She was well trained in this regard, Frank noted. Now if she could just remember to fix him his snack before he woke up from his afternoon nap.
“How about something chewy?”
Frank huffed as Betsy artfully positioned the cookies on a plate. Why did she have to make such a production out of a snack? Who was she trying to impress - they were cookies, not crème brulée - and he was hungry. He crowded into her space.
“Um, a little room please,” Betsy said. “Do you want to eat, or not? I need room.”
Frank gave her an inch.
Betsy shoved the plate at him and stalked off.
He ignored her. He was tempted to ignore the cookies - just on principle - but they were his favorite and he had to admit, they did look appetizing arranged like that on the plate.
Snack devoured, Frank nudged the plate away, smacking his lips. Another nap before dinner might be good, he thought, or possibly … what was that? He leaned in close, and then let out an explosive curse that brought Betsy running.
“What is it? What’s wrong?”
Another curse. He swatted at the filthy intruder and scuttled back so Betsy could take over.
“Dammit, another fly?” Betsy groused. “Can’t you get it?”
Frank stared at her. Surely she was joking. He peered out from behind her as she expertly squashed the fly with an old newspaper and wrapped it in a tissue. He hated bugs - hated them. He gave the spot where the fly had been a final, disgusted glare, making sure there were no others. Satisfied, he moved toward the bedroom as Betsy emerged from the bathroom, the sound of flushing behind her.
“Are you going back to sleep?” Betsy asked as Frank sauntered past her. “Must be nice.”
He rubbed up against her, spared her a quick glance over his shoulder. A soft invitation followed.
“Brat,” she giggled. “I need to finish this report before dinner, but you go ahead.”
Frank shrugged. It was her loss.
Betsy almost missed the squeak over the pop and sizzle of chicken in the fry pan. She craned her neck in time to see Frank finish a gaping yawn. “Nice teeth. Have a nice nap?”
Frank blinked, shook off the last of sleep and breathed deeply, the enticing aroma that had pulled him from slumber filling his pulsing nostrils.
“Dinner’s almost ready.”
Excellent. He hopped up on a kitchen chair to supervise. The woman had an annoying habit of experimenting with exotic herbs and had to be watched every moment if the food was going to be edible.
“A promotion really would be nice,” Betsy ventured as she set Frank’s plate before him.
A cocked eyebrow ended that conversation. The rest of dinner was a subdued affair.
Still, by the time Betsy had finished the dishes, she’d swallowed enough of her pride to accept his invitation to nestle on the couch. Frank rested his head on her thigh while she curled her fingers at his nape.
“This is nice,” she murmured. They lazed contentedly, enjoying each other’s quiet company.
Sensing the moment was right, Frank arched his neck, flashed his baby blues.
Betsy melted. “You’re irresistible when you do that,” she purred. “But you know that.”
He did. He leaned further into her caress, urged her lower.
Besotted by his come-hither eyes, she complied. Her fingers gently circled a nipple.
Swat!
“Ow! What the hell?!” Betsy’s finger went into her mouth.
Frank leapt, offended, from the couch. She knew damn well he didn’t like to be touched there. It tickled.
“You let me last night,” Betsy whined, nursing her injured hand. “What’s your problem tonight? Jesus, you’re like a Venus flytrap.”
He glared and stalked toward the bedroom.
“Oh, sure. Go ahead - ignore me again. It’s what you do best, isn’t it?”
He stopped, but refused to face her.
“I work all day with people I despise, just to come home and be treated like a servant,” Betsy shouted.
And she wants a promotion … why? Frank mused.
“You call all the shots. And the moment I try something that I think you’ll like, you hit me.” She jabbed her finger at him. “You hit me!”
Frank rolled his eyes and continued toward the bedroom. If she was going to be melodramatic, then he was going to bed.
Betsy deflated. “You … you … oh, come on! Just … come back to the couch, okay? Frank?”
Frank was already in bed.
When the clock chimed 11, he felt her curl up next to him.
“I’m sorry, baby. I won’t touch your belly nipple next time,” she cooed.
Frank rolled over and offered her his chin, as a token of his forgiveness.
“You are the biggest tease on the planet,” Betsy chuckled. “Must be why I love you.”
“Mrow,” said Frank.